


They Don’t Exactly Cover This Subject

by aidennestorm



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous Age, Consent Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, Grooming, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Power Dynamics, Summer Camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 20:39:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11928834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidennestorm/pseuds/aidennestorm
Summary: The last place Alex wants to be is summer camp, cut off from city comforts and his academic ambitions. There’s one thing—one person—that makes this hell worthwhile: Lead Counselor Washington. He’s gorgeous, distracting, and surprisingly indulgent in more ways than one. Alex isn’t entirely sure what he wants, but he’ll do anything as long as Washington never stops looking at him.





	They Don’t Exactly Cover This Subject

For a few minutes in the dawning hours of the morning, long before the bell chimes to awaken the campers, Alex tries and fails to forget where he is. It’s too difficult to keep his eyes closed and listen to the quiet chirping of insects he doesn’t have names for and acutely miss the cacophonous street sounds of _home_ —where he would much rather be, given the choice.

Instead, he’s attending this godforsaken summer camp for at-risk youth, despite his excellent exam scores. Despite the application to Columbia he’s already preparing. Despite that on his worst day he can run mental circles around the counselors themselves without breaking a sweat. All that, and he’s still _stuck_ , bound by rules and curfew and the whims of more “responsible” adults that claim to know him and his needs better than he knows himself.

He’s restless, now, consumed with energy that pushes him to _do_. He climbs out of bed as silently as he can as to not disturb his cabin mates, pulling on a pair of athletic shorts and a tank top, tying his sleep tangled hair into a messy bun. He’s not supposed to leave the cabin, but that doesn’t stop him from sliding on his sandals and slipping out anyway.

When he pulls the latch shut behind him and looks up from his feet, he immediately notices a light on in the mess hall up the hill. Based on the pale yellows and oranges streaking across the sky, the showers won’t open for another hour at least, even longer after that before campers and counselors alike drag themselves out for breakfast. But at the beginning of day three he can _maybe_ claim that he got lost on his way to the bathrooms…

Decision made, he heads to the building, trekking along the dusty path marked only by a faint line of stones. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to find when he opens the heavy metal door, but upon first glance the cafeteria is empty. He turns his back to the room to tug the door closed, but is so preoccupied that he jumps a little when he’s greeted by a quiet and serious, “You shouldn’t be here.”

Alex closes his eyes briefly. Takes a moment to try to calm his erratically beating heart, and feels marginally more steady when he looks over his shoulder to meet that dark, intent gaze. “ _Counselor_ Washington,” he challenges, swinging around to fully face him. “I didn’t realize you were going to confine us to our bunks at all hours of the day.”

It’s perhaps not his brightest idea, as under Washington’s frowning scrutiny he’s acutely aware of how little clothing he’s wearing, compared to Washington dressed attractively and impeccably in the polo and oxfords of the lead counselor’s uniform; he can feel his nipples straining against the thin white fabric of his shirt, and his red shorts are too uncomfortably tight and revealing around his half hard cock, remnants of a morning urge he didn’t bother satisfying.

But he stands stubbornly still as the moment stretches into awkward silence, meeting Washington’s eyes without flinching. Washington finally blinks, breaking the unspoken contact, and clears his throat to comment dryly, “Only you would make an honorific sound like an epithet. Take a seat, Alexander.”

He bites back the instinctive _my name is Alex_ that rises to his lips, if only because the name _Alexander_ spoken in Washington’s deep voice is layered and full of meaning—like Washington takes him seriously, sees his potential and drive beyond the hard knock story that landed him here.

Like Washington sees _him._

He sits in the hard backed plastic chair directly across from Washington, unmistakably relieved at the reprieve. “Earn it and maybe I’ll change my tune,” he retorts—it’s easier to spit words than to examine or explain the sudden influx of emotions churning in his stomach.

With nothing more than a raised brow, Washington takes a sip of his coffee and peers at him over the rim of the paper cup, and Alex belatedly wonders if he’s pushed too far. But before he can scrounge up an appropriately contrite apology, Washington holds out the beverage in a clear offering.

Alex’s glances at the cup, then back to Washington, whose expression doesn’t change from its calm, cool demeanor. He grabs at the coffee as if it’s about to disappear, but Washington doesn’t immediately let go, his hand brushing against Alex’s when Alex gently tugs it out of his grasp.

He tries not to think too hard about the goose bumps that crawl up and down his arms.

Right now, though, it’s inconsequential compared to the joy of having coffee again, and he takes a gulp gleefully. Definitely not hot enough, and too much cream and sugar for his taste—but this is his first lifeline to the world beyond the forest that’s as effective as any gate, and he can’t stop the small pleased “Mmmm,” he voices when the first mouthful slides down his throat.

This time, Washington doesn’t look away. Instead his expression clouds—and before Alex can ask what the fuck the problem is, Washington is towering over him, all broad shoulders and muscled arms.

Even though there’s not a single drop of coffee in his mouth, Alex swallows thickly.

“Not a word,” Washington warns with a meaningful glance at the cup, and stalks out of the mess hall. Unbidden, Alex feels himself flush—head to toe, hot and cold, a rising and falling swoop nestled under his skin.

The complicated bundle of feelings that Alex refuses to name, let alone seriously recognize, only get stronger and more obvious as days turn into weeks. When he argues with a particularly dense, obviously silver spoon fed counselor with a white savior complex about the ineffectiveness of respectability politics, there’s a smile that touches Washington’s eyes, indulgent and soft. When he writes a letter about how the inane activities the campers are forced to participate in serve as nothing more than a circle jerk for their distant philanthropic funders, and personally hands it to Washington one morning during what has become their daily coffee ritual, Washington reads over it with irritated but begrudging pride.

And during one of those inane activities—archery, like Alex is ever going to use that in downtown New York City—Washington steps up behind him and guides his drawing arm back with a firm yet light touch, ever proper in the face of the other campers and counselors… but his chest is unmistakably pressed against Alex’s back, crowded intimate and close, and when Alex lets the arrow fly and it hits nearly dead center, Washington’s murmured, “Good work, Alexander,” directly in his ear makes Alex shiver in a way he can’t possibly attribute to the chill in the evening air.

Every day, Washington watches him—and more and more frequently, Alex unquestioningly returns his stare.

After Archery Night, it only takes once or twice for him to dream about those strong arms and broad warm hands around him, each time waking up with his boxers a sticky mess that he has to rush and hide before his cabin mates notice, before the anticipation and _wanting_ becomes too much to deny any longer. It’s one of the most reckless things he’s ever done—and Alex has an ever growing list of dubious choices—but that still doesn’t stop him from pressing an unannounced kiss to Washington’s lips, late around a campfire, long after everyone else has gone to bed besides himself and Washington as his long-suffering chaperone.

Washington doesn’t reciprocate, but doesn’t push him off, either. He simply sits motionless and pliant as Alex deepens the kiss, tasting his fill, trying to evoke some response—and only after Alex withdraws does he admonish, “This is a bad idea.”

Alex laughs, giddy and wild and full of unruly, nervous energy. “You know I’ve never had the best ideas.”

Washington studies him quietly, his face cast mostly in shadow from the flickering firelight. “I’ve seen you watching me,” he says finally. “You need to be more careful. Other men might take advantage of such a blatant invitation.”

It sounds almost like a warning, but draws Alex closer as sure as any flame.

(He’s already in too deep. What’s one more risk?)

 _“Other_ men?” Alex asks coyly, leaning in to brush his mouth against the shell of Washington’s ear. “What about you, sir? Will _you_ take advantage? After all, haven’t you wanted to? I’ve seen you watching _me_.”

Washington’s hands clench around his own thighs, steadying and restraining even as his intense, assessing gaze flicks up and down Alex’s body unreservedly. He abruptly stands, then, leaving Alex to shudder and look up at him, still desperately wanting but equally confused. Without another word Washington douses the fire with the bucket of water near Alex’s feet, plumes of smoke rising from the damp ashes. After the smoke clears, Washington glances at him pointedly then stalks off into the night in a clear instruction. 

Alex hurries after him through the moonlit clearing to a cabin on the outskirts of the woods; he vaguely remembers the counselors mentioning it as an overflow cabin for busy season, currently maintained but empty of occupants. By the time he reaches the porch the door is swung wide, the inside of the cabin shadowy and silent. 

He could leave. He _should_ leave. 

Instead, he bounds up the landing and into the dark. 

He barely clears the door when it swings shut behind him, closing with a dull thud that still echoes loudly in the night—and then hands are tangled in his shirt, effortlessly tugging him across the room, his feet stumbling to catch up. They don’t let go until he’s pushed onto one of the lumpy mattresses masquerading as beds. 

A weight climbs on top of him, pinning him down, caging his shoulders, trapping his thighs, warm and new and strange. His breath quickens when he squirms slightly and he feels a hard hot line pressed against his stomach. 

There’s a moment of stillness, fraught and uncertain—and Washington _moves_ , crushing his mouth against Alex’s in a desperate and hungry and consuming kiss, taking Alex’s breath away even as Alex moans low in his throat and clutches at Washington’s back, begging for more without words. 

“Deference becomes you, Alexander,” Washington muses when he pulls away, leaving Alex’s lips swollen and tingling. “Not so petulant now, are you?”

One of Washington’s hands reaches between them and closes around Alex’s stiff, clothed cock, and Alex arches under the touch. “ _Oh_ ,” he gasps, high and sharp and breathless, “oh, sir, _please_ —”

He presses the fingers of his other hand into Alex’s mouth; Alex sucks on them, laves his tongue over the rough skin, chokes around them when Washington pushes them too far. But even if he could voice a protest he doesn’t, instead feeling his whole body jerk slightly, a frightened frantic pleasure that sets every nerve on fire. 

“That _mouth_ of yours,” Washington groans, withdrawing his slick fingers and taking his hand off Alex’s cock, rolling away just long enough to nudge Alex onto his side to face the wall. He reaches over Alex’s hip and unzips his pants with one hand, tugs them and his boxers to his ankles in one swift motion.

Alex shudders when the cool air hits his too warm skin, when Washington’s fingers slide along the join of his thighs, slicking him up, when Washington mouths bruises into his neck, so high Alex doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hide them in the morning; he’s so overwhelmed by the unfamiliar sensations that he barely notices the sound of another zipper. Washington withdraws his intimate touch and Alex whimpers at the loss; he guides Alex’s head to rest in the crook of his elbow, and then—

The blunt warmth of Washington’s cock presses urgently against the curve of his ass, Alex unnervingly, desperately aware of it, sudden nervousness bubbling in his chest when he squirms and stammers, “I—I’ve never…”

He’s imagined. _Wanted_ , with any number of classmates or friends, but never enough to derail his unending drive to build a high rise out of the ashes of his childhood. But for Washington—

Alex would do _anything_ to make Washington proud of him. To make Washington notice him in all the same confusing, complicated ways Alex is distracted every day. But even so, in the midst of the frenzy of emotions inside him, it makes his stomach lurch with a feeling that is murky and questioning and he wonders dazedly _what am I doing?_

Before he can decide whether or not to dwell on the thought, Washington lays a steady hand on his thigh. “Easy. Just like this,” he murmurs reassuringly, rubbing small circles with his thumb. Alex breathes, forces himself to still even as his body screams at him to somehow _move_ , for release or relief he doesn’t know.

The light touch turns firm, Washington’s fingers digging into his skin, his groan in Alex’s ear utterly obscene. There are no words exchanged as Washington ruts forward, cock sliding between his thighs, a heavy weight nestled against his cheeks. Alex clutches the arm beneath his head and breathes raggedly because it’s too much yet he needs—he needs—

Washington’s hand closes around his cock and Alex cries out, loud and piercing in the still silence of the night around them. A broad palm clamps over his mouth with a hissed “ _Quiet_.” Alex jerks away in surprise, unintentionally fucking himself further into Washington’s firm grip, and this time his desperate moan is muffled and stifled.

Washington pants into his neck and holds him nearly immobile, strong and overwhelming and _taking_ with every thrust and every stroke. Too quickly Alex’s pleasure crests, blinding and white-hot; his sob is shattered and desperate as he writhes under Washington’s touch, helpless to halt his movements, spilling over his hand and onto the mattress. Even after Alex’s body slows to a steady tremble Washington fucks between his thighs with more abandon, causing the bed frame to creak beneath them, cupping Alex’s sensitive cock to a point somewhere near pain.

Alex’s eyes slip closed, and he drifts somewhere in the nebulous vicinity of unconsciousness before he feels Washington shift and slide his cock free, coming over Alex’s lower back and ass with a nearly inaudible grunt. A few more moments and Washington relaxes, releasing his mouth and cock, hands gentle over Alex’s skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. When his fingers brush the fresh hickey on Alex’s neck, Alex shivers and leans into the touch. “This was a poor decision on my part.”

Alex huffs a laugh without opening his eyes, though it sounds a little unsteady and uncertain to his own ears. “All of this and you’re worried about marking me up? I don’t mind.”

Washington’s arm closes more tightly around his waist, hand slowly creeping beneath his shirt to stroke his chest. The touch should be warm and soothing, but his heart stutters and it catches like ice. “You _should_ mind, if this is going to happen again.”

He _hears_ Washington’s offer, carefully phrased under a layer of placid calm. It’s a chance to abandon this new illicit intimacy in the darkness of the cabin, knowing that when the door shuts behind them, it will be buried as permanently as if it never occurred. But he knows just as surely that if he flees without a backward glance, everything will change.

No more stolen early morning conversations over shared coffee. No more freedom to speak his mind to delusional counselors and campers alike. Washington will view him differently and the implicit praise that always gleams in his steady gaze will be extinguished… and even though Alex’s remaining weeks at camp are steadily dwindling, he needs this.

He needs _Washington._

“It’ll happen again,” Alex promises, deliberately easing further into the inviting lines of Washington’s body even as his throat tightens. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the [anon](http://aidennestorm.tumblr.com/post/164699256482/hey-theres-something-ive-been-thinking-about-for) who sent me the idea that spiraled into this story, and to [dreamlittleyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo) for helping me wrangle my thoughts and for endless encouragement!! Please see [this goddamn photo of Chris Jackson](https://cjackgifs.tumblr.com/post/163544454557/the-boy-has-blessed-us-with-his-twitter-offerings) for my inspiration of what he looks like in this universe's camp counselor attire. You can also find me on [tumblr](http://aidennestorm.tumblr.com/).


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